


Evil creatures

by isasolan



Series: Arafinwë [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Boys Being Boys, Children, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff without Plot, Gen, Learning history, Little Brothers, Roughhousing, Vanyar pride
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-30 20:03:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1022827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isasolan/pseuds/isasolan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finarfin learns a thing or two about playing The-Evil-Creature-and-the-Valiant-Elda-during-the-March.</p><p>Fluff warning!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evil creatures

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted from tumblr
> 
> Arafinwë=Finarfin, Ambaráto=Aegnor, Angaráto=Angrod, Findaráto=Finrod
> 
> I chose to use Ambaráto because it's from Finarfin's PoV and I suppose that's what he would call Aegnor (or at least would think of him this way, at this stage), since it's the name he gave him.

Arafinwë has not heard the boys for a while, which is always a bad sign. They are nowhere in the house, so he steps out in the garden, pushing the fear far in the back of his mind. They know how to swim, of course, and Ossë would never harm little children, but he always worries when they play unsupervised by the shore.

  
He lets out a sigh of relief when he hears their voices, deep in the garden where the palm trees shade the most. But his comfort is short lived. They are not exactly speaking. Those are _screams_. He runs, then, and reaches the clearing just in time to see Angaráto curled on the ground, trying to unsuccessfully block the enthusiastic whacks Ambaráto gives him with a thick wooden stick. One of them lands on his face, and the older boy screams again. Horrified, Arafinwë has just the time to grab the stick from his youngest before it hits the same spot.

 

"Boys! What did I say about fighting?"

 

They both look startled to see him there, and when he frowns at them they seem confused rather than repentant.

 

"We weren't fighting," Angaráto says sheepishly. "It was just a game."

 

"What game is this where you hurt your brother?" he asks Ambaráto, whose face falls a little.

 

"He was an evil creature of Melkor, and I was the valiant Elda during the March," he says, earnestly. Angaráto nods to confirm it.

 

Arafinwë sighs and kneels to inspect to damage on the face of the eldest. "An evil creature of Melkor? And who has been telling you about such things?"

 

Angaráto blushes under his gaze and winces when he touches the sore spot on his cheek. "I read it, father. In one of Findaráto's books."

 

"You know he does not like you touching his books," Arafinwë says, shaking his head. "I hope your hands were not dirty."

 

"They weren't," Ambaráto pipes in. "I helped him clean them first."

 

"Your brother does not look like a creature of Melkor to me," he tells him, still frowning. He can see his sternness is baffling to the child, but he does not soften his expression.

 

"It's just pretend, daddy. He's not evil, not really."

 

There is already a bruise forming on the cheek where Ambaráto whacked him, and two purple ones on his arm, probably from previous blows. Arafinwë is not sure whether to scold Ambaráto for hitting, or Angaráto for devising this 'game'. Or both. Or neither.

 

"Must you always play like this? Would you not rather pretend you were both valiant Eldar?"

 

"But then it's not fun," Angaráto says, shaking his head. "Whom would we fight against?"

 

"Me," Arafinwë suggests, and it surprises him as much as it does the boys. They shriek with excitement and he holds his hands up to appease them. "Listen! Listen. But only if you both promise there shall be no more whacking each other with sticks."

 

The boys glance at each other and nod. "We promise!" they say in unison, and Angaráto adds, "Will you really be an evil creature?"

 

Arafinwë laughs. They are very young. He sees no harm in playing with them like this. "I suppose. Which one would you like me to be?"

 

They both look puzzled. "There's more than one kind?"

 

He sits next to them on the sand. "Just how much of the book did you manage to read? Of course there is more than one kind. You should ask your great-granduncle about it."

 

Ambaráto does not seem to know who this is, but Angaráto asks, "King Ingwë?"

 

"Indeed King Ingwë. He fought many of those before coming to Aman. As did your grandfather Finwë. And your grandfather Olwë."

 

Ambaráto gasps with true awe. Angaráto only looks impatient. "But what did they look like, then?"

 

Arafinwë hesitates briefly, unsure how much to tell them. He does not want to end up with distressed, crying little boys when bedtime comes. He frowns and does his best to look fearsome, and crawls to the darkest spot of the clearing. "Dreadful and dark," he growls. "They run after you in the shadows. There is nowhere to hide. You two must be very brave to defeat one."

 

"We can be brave!" Angaráto says and jumps to his feet. Ambaráto is biting his lip. He looks entirely unconvinced, and more afraid than anything.  His brother elbows him. "Right?!" 

 

Arafinwë struggles not to laugh when his youngest looks at Angaráto and shakes his head no.

 

"Yes we can!" the eldest insists. "We are brave like Ingwë, and our hair is golden like his. We can defeat him." He takes the little one's hand. "I'll protect you if you're afraid."

 

Ambaráto scowls. "I'm not afraid! I'm brave like Ingwë too."

 

"I am waiting!" Arafinwë is more amused than he planned to be. The boys roar in response and run to him. He sees, too late, that they bend down to retrieve their wooden sticks as they charge upon him. "No sticks! Ai! Boys!"

 

"Die, you evil!" Ambaráto shouts, and whacks him on the head with a fierceness a twenty year old ought not to have. Arafinwë tries to stop the hits, but Angaráto is on the other side, whacking him even harder.

 

"Return to the shadows!" he screams and the hit lands squarely on Arafinwë's nose.

 

\---

 

"I still do not understand, dear, how it is possible that the boys did this to you," Eärwen says, frowning with worry.

 

Arafinwë holds the towel to his nose in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. "It is a long and embarrassing story that I would much rather not tell," he grumbles with a sigh, and winces when she presses a cold cloth to his swollen eye.


End file.
